


Alter Ego

by breakdancingfish



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Only One F-Word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakdancingfish/pseuds/breakdancingfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People tended to think of Gazelle as the sidekick. They were severely underestimating her kicking abilities. </p><p>Or rather, the one where Gazelle is her own sidekick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alter Ego

“Landmine.” 

Most left it at that. The few pricks who prodded for more details were shut down with an, “I don’t want to talk about it.” She’d actually never invented a full story. No one needed to know the truth. She knew and that was all that mattered.

Correspondingly, no one needed to know her real name. She’d considered a few others, was particularly fond of Achilles, but decided she didn’t want something with such obvious irony. Plus it would have been an open invitation for others to find her weakness. She wasn’t sure of it herself. 

The prostheses made her taller than she’d been with her original legs. For a long time she preferred walking on her hands. At least she was used to the perspective. But like any new pair of shoes, she’d only had to get used to them. She worked her ass off to acquire her elegance and speed. Thus Gazelle was born.

Valentine amused her. She loved him in the same way she would an overly affectionate pet. Him grabbing Gazelle’s ass was the equivalent of a puppy licking her face. She and Gazelle shared a body, they didn’t always share reactions. But she never forgot Gazelle was on the payroll. A chip in her head would have meant off with his. She would make it fast. She wasn’t a total monster. 

So much of Gazelle’s job fell into the category of other duties as assigned. A finger to her lips was all she needed to ensure Professor Arnold's silence. She'd surely earned his trust by virtue of the fact he hadn't just seen her kill several men. As she, also silently, approached on the rug, he had no idea of what she could do. Make a mess, all her. Swiftly clean it up, all Gazelle. Bartending was unnecessary thanks to bisected man. 

Living in Valentine’s world always kept her on her toes so to speak. Being in the public eye was unexpected. Reporters wanted interviews, always assuming Gazelle would have glowing praise for her boss, but responses were kept monosyllabic. 20th Century Fox hired a model to portray Gazelle in the movie, only on screen in a handful of scenes, and always with lower body just out of frame. She wasn’t sure if Hollywood was lazy or cheap. Probably an and. She should have played Gazelle, she played Gazelle every single day. 

She hadn’t always been bloodthirsty. One who is unable to hunt cannot know the thrill. But after the prey has become the predator, all bets are off. It might have started as vengeance and morphed into a cure for all her anger, but eventually it was just for the rush. Doing Gazelle’s job could have been much simpler, but why not cut people in half when you have the capability? The planet would thank her. 

Bodyguard was her chief function. She was constantly at the ready, even when she wasn’t in the room. Valentine could be meeting a head of state and Gazelle could take out the staff and be at his side before the other party could even request assistance. And then she could just as quickly change to financial advisor, quality control, tech support. She wore many metaphorical shoes. 

There was a part of her that missed genuine shoe variety, albeit an admittedly shallow part. Sure, Gazelle could get different colors, different patterns, different styles. But it was hard to improve on perfection. The sound of the metal as she ascended stairs made the loveliest melody. The gleam of reflected light shining into someone’s eyes had to make a glorious final sight. So she and Gazelle stuck to the single style, always taking care to keep toenails filed and polished. She felt powerful. 

For every person Valentine converted to the cause, there were many more refusing to see reason, forcing the kidnappings and frequent fights. The preferred method was to rip off Gazelle’s skirt, excellent costume choice if she said so herself, and twirl it in the air like a matador taunting a bull. The battle was rigged, the bulls never stood a chance. As eagerly as she removed appendages, she still thought the best part might have been the audience reaction. Keep watching Princess, it’s just getting good. 

She’d lost track of how many lives she’d ended. They all started to blur together in her mind. Had she taken that arm at the shoulder or the elbow? Did the man with the brain piercing keep his hands? Focusing on a single face didn’t help, she recalled everything simultaneously, becoming a legend in her own mind. When she was younger she knew she was destined for greatness. She didn’t care if her greatness came in the form of her alter ego Gazelle, she would take it.

This Gazelle, she was willing to do whatever it took to achieve the end goal, even if it meant serving as food delivery staff to her employer. She knew it was for show, and that in such moments Gazelle was also for show. It took everything in her to refrain from killing Mr. “My Colleague Died” the moment he set eyes on her. But they would have gained nothing of his plans, so Gazelle played her role, putting more care into preparing the meal than the actual McDonald’s workers. Keeping up appearances. 

Sometimes she was certain she was smarter than Valentine. How was it she knew more about biometrics than the man who requested such security? And she was always present for chip installation procedures, because she naturally had more medical knowledge than someone who couldn’t stand to see blood. Valentine’s presence was optional, Gazelle’s was required. Fucking indispensable. 

Seeing the spy again in the tailor shop just made her annoyed and prepared to pounce. He was an inconvenience, he made them waste time, and she really wanted to dismember him. Although as she sized up the young man in the garish jacket, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to slice his face off or slice his clothes off. Probably an and. She was hesitant to admit it, but she and Gazelle were one and the same.

Bingo. Of course she knew how the game worked. But she had Gazelle’s reputation to uphold. Ridiculous hat, rocking dress, ruthless killer. Valentine might have thought fear made her confirm the device’s range, and he would have been right, but not fear for herself. Were she effected, no one would have stood a chance, and she wasn’t ready to go from co-conspirator to solo act. 

She couldn’t help her glee at watching the test feed. Damn, she wanted in on that. Guess it was good she didn’t kill the Kingsman after all. Every dead body was a small step toward a better world. She tried not to think about private jets. As a grenade exploded, she smiled. 

For once Gazelle wasn’t the one pulling the trigger. Not that she used guns particularly often, they clearly weren’t her weapon of choice. But chances couldn’t be taken after witnessing what befell South Glade Mission Church. The element of surprise was their best asset. And then everything was back to normal, taking orders, sending signals, pointing out the obvious. 

Gazelle said they were only getting the really scared ones. But really she thought they were all scared. Scared of increased aggression and decreased inhibitions, scared of other humans, scared of not following the crowd or being one of the cool kids, scared of Gaia Theory. Even she was scared, but only of failure. Damn, she has a heel after all. 

Those frightened folks got some positivity via Valentine’s analogy of Noah and the animals. They’re all animals, attempting to survive the elements. With champagne and furs. If your bank account is the only thing keeping you alive, is your life even worth living? She was pleased with the fact she didn’t need fairy tales to keep her composure. Never doubted their mission for a second, so confident they were doing the right thing and would prevail in the end that she didn’t even have a backup plan. One woman killing crew most likely. 

Again, Gazelle’s the one to fix things. No telling how long the downed satellite would have gone unidentified were it not for her. Valentine didn’t even know which ones were his. It was cute really, the man who was going to help everyone was completely helpless. Less cute when everyone below her became fireworks. She didn’t care for those people by any means, but having more allies was generally better than less. At least things were going right when they were back online. Calling out the cities made her giddy. 

After tackling Valentine, Gazelle stroked his face just before leaping into saving the day. A move she herself might not have made, but he was the most important part of the equation at that point. They hadn’t tested the system with a dead hand. The valet found no shortage of props for her to mutilate. Her frustration built as the process was taking longer than usual, and as all the yelling was pissing her off. She reminded herself that they couldn’t both walk away, and sprung for the death blow. 

Within seconds she knew she had become just another sacrifice, one less person using up natural resources and producing carbon. At least she went down swinging, at least the rest of the world was also going down. Then she died, and Gazelle died too.


End file.
